God Called in Sick Today
by Room304
Summary: Greg thought he buried his past once he moved to Vegas. Unfortunately, nothing stays buried, including the dead. Greg, Sara, and Grissom travel to Harrisburg and try to solve a mysterious crime. 4th in the Stay Home series.
1. Welcome to Paradise

_AN: This is the fourth and final part to my Stay Home series (Stay Home, In the Spoon it Melts to Liquid, Opiate Summer, and now God Called in Sick Today) which chronicles a made up version of Greg's past, starting at the age of sixteen. This part is going to be significantly longer than the other three parts and since my Junior year is much more difficult than I thought it would be, it might take me awhile between updates. I know that this has taken me a long time to write and I'm sorry. After The Agony of a Stalker was finally finished (a big thanks to all of you who read it), I just didn't feel like writing anymore. But now I'm back and ready to go._

"What do you have against me Sara? I mean, Taylor was just yelling at me, telling me I needed to handle all of my shift's cases. Funny thing, I thought I was."So much for subtly. I don't know, I guess having various chemicals thrown at you by the nutcase lab tech that works days can turn you into a real asshole. I mean, she had been sitting quietly at a desk, filling out paperwork on some old cases, when all of a sudden I just burst in there and started attacking her.

"Greg," She began, exasperated. "Not everything's a conspiracy theory." Her statement exhumed confidence, but I had learned to read people and I did notice the brief flicker of fear behind her statement. I shut the door as I took a seat on the opposing table and stared directly into her eyes as I questioned her.

"What are you not telling me?"

"What's gotten into you today?" she replied, flustered. She kept her eyes on me as she tried to bury a file on her desk. I stalked over to where she was sitting and tried to look as menacingly as possible while I grabbed the file from her hands. I hastily opened it, quickly shutting it back once I saw the name of the victim glaring up at me. I stared at Sara, openmouthed.

"I- I didn't even know he was in Vegas. I haven't even seen him in about ten years. How- - I mean what happened?"I stuttered.

She smiled at me pityingly. "Why don't you ride with me to Desert Palms and find out?"

I nodded wordlessly and followed her to her car.

"So how do you know Tony Nash?" she asked out of the blue as we were en route to the hospital. I just smiled wistfully at her as turned her radio to a classic rock station. About ten minutes later, the song I was looking for finally came on. When I heard the first opening chords, I blared her radio as loud as it could go (which wasn't all THAT loud), and sang that song. The one that had started, and ended, everything.

_I'll find a way_

_To keep it all inside._

_It's harder than it looks,_

_it's eating me alive._

_You have this gift_

_of working your way in._

_Eventually, you'll break me down_

_I'll surrender to this sin._

"Have you ever heard this before?"

"Greg, I asked you- -"she began. I could tell by the look she was shooting me that her trust in me was gradually fading- - that "I know you're guilty of something" glance.

"It's called Duesday. It was written by- -"

"The band Unleaded, I'm not completely anti everything." Noticing the perplexed state I was in, she continued. "My roommate at Harvard, Phoebe, was a huge fan of theirs. Her walls were covered with their posters and album covers. I even went with her to one of their concerts. Don't look so shocked; I did know how to have fun once."She finished with a grin, tilting her head to glance in my direction. We sat in silence for a few moments. Sara was calmly watching the road- - her left arm rested on the door as it supported her head. Her right hand was on the steering wheel, fingers tapping in tune with the radio. After the song ended though, the question I had been waiting to ask since the beginning of our ride finally slipped out.

"He is still alive, right? Tony, I mean. We wouldn't be going to visit him in a hospital if he were dead." The anxiety I was trying so hard to hide seeped into her view with the eagerness that had to be stamped all over my face.

"Yeah, he's alive. He was found on the floor of his apartment with two bullet holes in his chest, the gun wit his prints all over it laying right beside him. Grissom thought it was a suicide attempt gone bad, but we want to interview him just to make sure." Her voice oozed with the pity that I thought and wished had disappeared. God, I hated that sad, yet condescending look people give when they're trying to comfort you. The only person who knew about my life and hadn't sent me that false support was Grissom. Thinking about him brought a new question to mind.

"Grissom knew about this?"

"Yeah."She was speaking to me in a tone that obviously translated along the terms of 'you dumbass'. "He gave me the case. He was the one who told me to send all of the evidence to Taylor."

I was a little hurt that Grissom thought it best to hide all of this from me, but I understood- - I could "compromise the case." With him, the evidence came before anything else which at times was a double-edged sword.

"So other than Tony, are there any other suspects?"

She didn't say anything for a few seconds as she was deciding whether to share the rest of the information with me or lie.

"We found a hair at the scene," she began slowly while biting her lip, regretting that she was telling me more with each word. But she still continued as we pulled our way into the parking garage at the hospital. "It belonged to Lydia Bell; do you have any idea who she is?"

I couldn't speak; it felt like I was choking on air, like the past eleven years of my life had been a lie. She was looking at me, expecting an answer. Right now I wasn't in any mood to lie.

"Yes." I quietly muttered under my breath as I got out of the car. For a second I was hoping that she hadn't heard, but when I finally worked up the courage to look her in the eye, I knew my reply was more audible than I had hoped.

"Let's just go," I sighed and started walking away from where she stood frozen by the car. Unfortunately, I had absolutely no clue where the hell I was going.

"Greg," Sara called out and, once I turned to face her, pointed the other direction.

"Right," I let out a small grin as I walked with her. I felt her hand on the small of my back as we walked, her light laughter ringing in my ears.

Tony's room was on the fifth floor of the hospital, ICU's hall. I had been in this hospital so many times that I had all the floors memorized, and the intensive care floor was the one that I always seemed to reside on. As we were riding the elevator up to the floor from hell, I had to ruefully laugh at the ironic thought that suddenly popped into my brain.

"What?"

"I was just thinking, the last time I saw Tony was in this very hospital."

"You know," she began. "You never told me how you knew Tony."

"I know," I curtly stated but with the glare Sara was shooting me, I knew this conversation wasn't over. "You're not going to let this die, are you?" That great gap-toothed grin was her only reply.

"Tony was the base player for Unleaded."

"Really?"

"Yeah and I was their roadie."

She playfully shoved me."Aww, and all this time I thought you were just a poser. Why did they split up?"

"An accident," and all it took were those two simple words to send the memories flying. Broken glass, the screeching of brakes- - Tony yelled out in earsplitting pain, Lydia fell into me, her blood, sticky and red-black, coated my clothes as it sprayed from her mouth. The car twisted around us - Price was stuck between the front and back rows of seats. The windshield shattered, spraying Zack and Price, slicing their skin as the reached their hands up to shield themselves. Kevin's body flew through the air, breaking the windshield even more, as he lurched out of the car; his body hit the pavement with the nauseating thud that was the last thing I remembered. I literally had to shudder to get their screams out of my head; it was right after that shudder that I realized I had been voicing my memories aloud.

Sara was staring at me wide-eyed, a look of pure horror pasted across her face. I pointed to the thin, but very visible, diagonal scar that stretched across my face. "Haven't you ever wondered where I got this?"

She gave me a sort of half smile. It was obviously forced, but I didn't mind the change. "Never noticed it."

I didn't think Sara had the ability to cheer me up, I never noticed how consolingly funny she could be. "Yeah, right" I scoffed. She screeched to a halt in front of room 541.

"This is it."

_AN: the next chapter should be up soon. Also I noticed a few errors in Opiate Summer ch2 that I need to clear up. First, Grissom was supposed to say that he knew DNA tags couldn't last ten years(not fifteen) since that's how long she's been "dead". And at the beginning of if I said the "attempted suicide" of Tony Nash, but later I said he had been murdered. Obviously, he survived._

_The song lyrics in this chapter are made up._

_REVIEW!!!_


	2. The Kids Aren't Alright

Sara's POV:

I didn't think it was possible, but Greg's face turned about seven shades whiter as we stopped at that door. He looked as if throwing up on my shoes would be a real comfort to him. As hard as I was trying to be a supportive friend, that was just one comfort I couldn't grant. He took a deep breath as he opened the door.

"Ladies first," he grinned, trying to appear light-hearted. His smile never reached his eyes.

It always strikes me how white hospitals are. Everything in them is white and clean. Each room just smells and looks immaculate, which is something I've always taken great comfort in.

The man lying on the vividly white sheets in room 541 wasn't exactly who I was expecting. His file said he was thirty-four, but Tony Nash looked much older than that. Every hard time in his life left a line on his weathered face and grayed his hair prematurely. He was short but years of heavy labor had sculpted his small frame, bulking him up. I could tell by looking at him that at one time, he had been handsome, but that had faded long ago. He was a man whose life had been dealt a few bad cards and he didn't seem like the type to befriend Greg.

I stamped a smile on my face as we walked over to his bed. Tony looked down at the sight of us but seconds later his glance had traveled back up to the small TV screen in the corner of the room, obviously disinterested. Apparently, he didn't recognize Greg. That or he just didn't care.

But still, I pressed on. "Tony Nash?" when he looked up, I continued. "I'm Sara Si - - "

"You're cops."

"Well, criminalists if you want to get technical. But we came down here to ask you a few questions about what happened to you."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I was at my place eating a burrito, when I hear this loud ringing noise. Next thing I know, something hits me in the back of the head and I'm gone. Well, until I woke up in the hospital with two bullet holes in my stomach. I told this to that cop already."

By 'that cop' I assumed he meant Brass. "Right. Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to you?"

His reply was just simply rolling his eyes AGAIN. Tony was starting to piss me off but I knew he used to be a friend of Greg's so I tried to stay as polite as possible.

"Sir, I know you've been asked these questions a million times but we're trying to find out who did this to you." Greg owed me big.

He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, his glance landing on the pale, shaking form of Greg.

"What's the matter, kid? This you first live victim?" He began with a twisted grin.

"As a matter of fact, you're my first 'victim' ever, sir" the last word dripped with the sarcasm I had been dying to use since I met this guy. Sarcasm is my friend. Sarcasm can do no wrong. So I kind of thought it unfair that Greg got to use it first.

Tony blanched when he heard Greg's voice. Even though he couldn't recognize him, the voice sure struck a memory. Recognition finally flashed on his face and he broke out into a sad smile. "Greg Sanders," he began, more of a statement than a question. "It's been awhile."

Greg matched Tony with a small smile of his own. "Eleven years."

Tony's hard exterior softened. "So you're a cop now? You've sure come a long way,"

"Not a cop, a - - " I butted in.

"I know, a 'criminalist.'" The two men glared over at me and I realized that I wasn't part of the conversation. I needed to not talk.

Tony filled the awkward silence. "You sure have come a long way. I barely even recognized you."

"Yeah, I'm sorry we lost touch". Ooh, Greg's sarcasm was back again. Apparently, this guy had burned him in the past, or vice versa.

Tony's smile faded. "I tried to keep in contact with you Greg. I visited you about two months after I got out. Doesn't that click? Or were you just too lit to remember?"

Meanwhile, I just stood in the background, trying to stay unnoticed for as long as I could eavesdrop on their conversation.

"That's not fair." Greg looked pissed now. Whatever happy reunion I was expecting, this was certainly not it. "You're the reason I got into all of that shit."

"I never made you do shit. And I wouldn't have let you do anything if you hadn't lied about your age. You were sixteen fucking years old! That's right, Lydia shared that little piece of information with me you sick fuck!" Tony was screaming now. I knew I should have broken up their fight, but I honestly couldn't believe the things I was hearing.

"So you want to talk about Lydia now? Why the hell did you tell me she died?"

"Because you couldn't keep your fucking paws off of her!"

"I never touched her!" Greg's tone was now just as loud as Tony's.

"I saw the way she looked at you. I knew what was going on. So when she finally woke up out of her fucking coma two years later, I told her that you were a heroin addict living on the streets!"

I looked at Greg. "Why?" he whispered, horrified.

"Because you were and you know it! I couldn't tell her anything else because she would have gone looking for you. I know about your relationship with her, I knew how much she cared. I figured she might as well know the truth! So you want to know why I told you she died, Greg? So you couldn't screw up her life even more than it was!

"And you never touched her? Then please tell me how the fuck you managed to get her pregnant??

"What?"

"What? You don't remember that? A month after you joined the group! She was going to tell you about your fucking son the day of the wreck but then she found out that you could have her arrested for statutory rape if you knew! She wouldn't even look at me after that, you ruined everything that we could ever hope to have. So you want to know why I told you she died, Greg? So you couldn't have the life you stole from me!"

"She still could have mentioned something to me. I-I could have at least helped out with something."

"Yeah, sure Greg. Help from a fucking heroin addict was exactly what a single mom needed."

Whoa, that one I wasn't expecting. Greg, the good guy, the dependable one, wasn't capable of some of these outrageous accusations that Tony was throwing at him. I was waiting for Greg to deny all of this, but his denial never came. Instead, he stalked out of the room. I muttered something that sounded remotely like "thank you for your time" before chasing Greg out into the hallway, finally reaching him at the elevator.

"Greg!" I called out to him as I jumped into the elevator with him. I was prepared to bitch him out for about ten minutes and get the answers he was refusing to give, but with one look at his crestfallen face, I knew now was not the time.

"Can you just take me home?"

"Sure."

AN: It will be awhile before the third chapter of this will be up. A few things- - a concert (Slipknot, anyone?), a looming hurricane, and Honors English- - will keep me from finishing the next chapter any time soon. I guess I should apologize in advance. But, you know, reviews will speed me up! Speaking of that, I would like to respond to a few of the reviews from last chapter.

JNP- I would write a tamora pierce story for those books but, I hate to say, I haven't read them! One day I will, I swear, and I might write a fic about them (especially if they have a character as cool as Joren!)

Orangebronce- lol, thanks. I personally think that trying to make up song lyrics to a fake song by a fake group was one of the hardest things about writing this series! Musicians deserve more credit than they get. I can't take credit for the title- - it's the title of my favorite song by A.F.I.

KrazyKid197- What happened to your account? And, of course you can post this on your site- - just credit it to HShuler888. You know, in a review you wrote for one of my stories, you said you would like for me to write a Greg angst story with no romance. That was what gave me the idea for Stay Home. Now I might not stick to that now but your review was the reason this thing was written. So thanks for that.

The next chapter, which will be in Grissom's POV, will be up soon.


	3. Fine Again

_I never really wanted you to see _

_The screwed side of me that I keep _

_Locked inside of me so deep it always seems to get to me _

_I never really wanted you to go _

_So many things you should have known _

_I guess for me there's just no hope _

_I never meant to be so cold _

- Cold, Crossfade

It had been a very, very long day; one of those days where, after shift, I wanted nothing more than to collapse into my bed and sleep for hours. Three suicides and a double murder will do that to you. After the seemingly endless shift, I had finally made it to my car when I heard the first low rumbling in the distance. I was digging in my pockets, quickly searching for my keys when I heard her calling.

"Grissom. Grissom!" Sara yelled as she ran to catch me. Once by my side, she held out her hand in a manner that clearly meant stop, bent down, and rested her other hand on her knee. Her hair was tousled from the long run and a worried, pained expression coated her face. About thirty seconds later, she straightened up and began, gasping for breath, "I think I could have compromised the Nash case."

I glanced at her, surprised, as she continued. "Greg questioned Tony Nash with me."

I knew by the way my cheeks were glowing that she could tell I was angry and before I could even begin a lecture, she jumped to her own defense.

"Well, if you hadn't kept important information about the case from me, then maybe it wouldn't have happened the way it did." She placed her hands on her hips as she tried to send me a condescending glare mirroring my own.

"What important information? I thought I made it evident that he knew the victim". The fact that I was handling this calmly seemed to anger her more. Her next statement was voiced about an octave louder.

"Well you didn't remember to mention to me how they knew each other! Or that they hated one another,"she smirked triumphantly, thinking that she had won. Thunder boomed after she finished, adding a dramatic finale to her statement.

"That's because I didn't know. Sara, I've known Greg a long time– longer than I've known you, even. When I went to talk to Tony Nash earlier today--"

"You went--"she interrupted.

"Yes, I talked to him before you went to interview him. I had a feeling Greg would be with you and I didn't want to hurt the case. Anyway, when I went to talk to him, he accused Greg of some pretty serious stuff, some of which I'm sure he shared with you." A quick nod and then I continued. "Sara, you've worked with Greg every day for the past four years, right? And in that time you think you know a person, know everything he's capable of doing and where his limits are. But the truth is, you don't know him. You're not friends. Now, truthfully, over the last year, how many times have you seen him outside of work? Had dinner with him? After the explosion at the lab, how many times did you visit him in the hospital?" I looked over at her, expecting her to be even angrier, but instead she was hanging her head, her cheeks burned with shame.

"Never"

"He grew up in an environment that we couldn't even imagine. Greg's home life was so hellish that by the time he was sixteen, he was a runaway. After all that he had been through, he still managed to get a hold on himself and become the single best DNA tech that I have ever seen.

"You let a person that you had never met before shatter your image of Greg. Don't you think you at least owe him the benefit of the doubt? I know I do. So please, Sara, don't try and tell me what Greg may have done before, especially if you have no proof."

"I just thought you might want to know," she whispered as she slowly backed away towards the crime lab, her face expressing so much hurt that I felt that familiar pang of guilt arise from somewhere inside of me. Once she was securely inside the building, the skies opened up, letting loose their anger at the world, at me. I ducked into my car as the first drops fell and drove home in silence. I arrived home to a dark house, with nothing but the booming thunder to keep me company as I tried to sleep.

My fitful attempt at sleep was a best futile and I found myself relieved when the phone rang at eleven. It gave me an excuse to get up. I blinked, trying to clear my bleary eyes as I reached for my glasses and my phone. Glancing out of the window as I hit the talk button on my phone, I realized the storm was still raging.

"Grissom?" the frightened voice on the other end questioned before I even had time to pull the phone to my ear. "It's Greg."

"Right". I had been expecting his call.

He gave a sort of nervous chuckle before continuing. "I haven't called you in years. I wasn't sure if your number was still the same."

"Greg, why do you drive down here and we can talk about the elephant in the room."

"You mean Sara?"For a brief second, the old Greg was back, but in as much time as it took him to return, he was gone again.

"Greg..."

"I was only kidding. Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes.

"Hey, Grissom? She's already talked to you, hasn't she?"

"Yes, she did."

"I thought she might."

"Why don't you just hurry over here so we can discuss this in person."

"Alright. Bye"

I set the phone back in its cradle and fell back onto my bed. Within seconds, the telephone started ringing again.

"Grissom," I began, exasperated, as I picked up the phone.

"Gil, it's Jim. I've been trying to call you." Brass's voice echoed through the phone, severity pulsing through. Where Greg's voice was quiet, scratchy, barely a whisper, Brass's was harsh, years of violence had hardened it.

"I was on the phone with Greg. He's not handling the Nash case all that well."

"That's actually what I called to talk to you about. I just got a call from Desert Palm. Tony Nash is dead."

"What? How?"

"That's you job to find out. The hospital staff is completely baffled. His nurse brought him lunch and, thirty minutes later when she went back to get the tray, he was face down in his Jello. Lime, in case you're wondering." After a pause, he continued. "There were no signs that this wasn't purely coincidental but, since he had just been assaulted, I figured you might want to treat it like a murder case.

"The sheriff seems to think that Lydia Bell has something to do with all of this. He wants a couple of your guys to travel up to Harrisburg and track her down, since we can't find a last know address. And he wants you to take Greg. He thinks she'll talk to him."

"Right, thanks Jim" I managed to stammer out, not bothering to remind him that anything she told Greg would be inadmissible in court, if it came to that. As I placed the phone in its hanger, I remembered the confused, scared lab tech that was headed my way. Once again, I would have to be the bearer of bad news and tell him that his friend was dead.

AN- Some of you may have realized that there was absolutely no information about Greg and Lydia hooking up anywhere in this series. I did that on purpose so you guys will have to ask yourselves some questions. Do you trust Tony? Lydia? Hell, even Greg? He was a heroin addict at the time, I would think that makes him one hell of an unreliable narrator. Any one of these three could be lying. Oh, and I can assure you, there won't be any big happy family moments in this story, because deep down I am fully devoted to the angst. The next chapter will be in Greg's pov, so you can expect some more incite on his situation.

The song is so cold by Crossfade, one of my favorite local bands that is starting to get noticed by the rest of the world. I've seen them in concert four or five times and I think it is awesome that they are getting played on the radio now. It's really cool when something you have supported for so long gets the respect of the rest of the world. You guys should check out their cd.

The nest chapter may take awhile, but reviews always help it to come faster.


	4. Stairway to Heaven

**AN: the rating of this chapter is R, for language of course. So for those of you with virgin ears, I apologize in advance.Sorry that this chapter took so long; a lot of shit has been going on.**

After the confrontation in the hospital, I knew I couldn't face Grissom, not yet. Hell, I couldn't even look at Sara. She never had any respect for me before today, somehow I don't think getting screamed at by some guy in intensive care was the best way to earn her approval. As I looked over at Tony after his shocking final statement, I realized that I couldn't stand to be in that room any longer. So I left. I tried to make it through the hall and to the elevator before Sara could catch up with me, but apparently she could run faster than I gave her credit for.

She looked like she was going to scream at me, hit me even. In fact, at that moment I wouldn't have minded if she did. I wanted something, anything to take me out of this cloud of disbelief and Sara slapping me would certainly do it. But she just stared at me, like a fucking sideshow act, before I finally broke the silence.

"Can you just take me home?" For a minute there, I thought she would refuse. I knew she wanted to rub all of this new information into Grissom's face; I could see her spilling everything and telling him "I always knew Greg was trouble."

"Sure." I never felt that much gratitude toward a person in my life. She just dropped it and didn't say another word. On the elevator ride to the lobby, I couldn't help but think about what Tony accused me of. I KNEW that I had never done anything with Lydia in my life. Hell, other than when I first met her in Pennsylvania, I never even had the opportunity to. I didn't see her for over a year, I was sure of it.

But, what did I remember about that year? Did I remember enough to be sure that her child wasn't mine? I tried to concentrate, tried to think. Had I seen Lydia between Harrisburg and Las Vegas? Then it hit me.Seattle, Washington- - where I had a breakdown in my hotel room. Hating what I was while I injected, with the assistance of the belt Lydia had given me as a Christmas gift the day before. I now remembered seeing her at Christmas. She met us in Seattle, this time her hair was about the same shade as a fire truck. "For the holidays,"she said with a grin after I commented on it. But that was it. I couldn't remember ever doing anything with her and I'm pretty sure something like that would stick out in my mind.

I guess the subject of my internal conflicts was pasted on my face because I soon found Sara's hand in mine. I looked down and caught a glimpse of her small hand swallowed by my own before looking up and meeting her eye. During the entire ride home, she never said a word, but I still knew she understood.

My apartment was quiet, lonely and I was tempted to call out to Sara and ask her to return. But when I made it to the door, she was gone. So I was left to sit alone at my kitchen table to ponder the events of that night. The vivid bright yellow of the walls contrasted greatly with the whole image of Vegas, of my job, of my thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder what caused me to pick the color in the first place. Maybe I was hoping an unnaturally uplifting color like that would set my life in the right direction.

Left with nothing to do but wonder about the past and stare at my walls, I only managed to stay up for a few more hours before I began the trek to my bedroom. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I collapsed on my bed to watch the last few minutes of an episode of Seinfeld and fell asleep in seconds. I woke up about eight hours later still in my clothes from the night before. Stretching, I walked over to my television to turn off The Cosby Show en route to the shower. My head was pounding. Because of the pain medication I forgot to take last night, my knee was throbbing. I felt like I just lost a boxing match..

After a quick shower, I limped over to the phone that hung on the wall beside the bed. I checked my watch: six- thirty. Too early to call? My hand hesitated inches above the receiver, before I picked it up and dialed his number.

"Grissom?"

The rain was pouring so severely that my windshield wipers were hindered useless and the normal drive of ten minutes to Grissom's townhouse took about a twenty. But before I knew it, I was knocking on his front door. Grissom answered and ushered me inside.

I couldn't help but laugh, even though it came our shakier than I hoped for. "This place looks exactly like it used to."

He gave a small grin. "What can I say? I'm a creature of habit."

It looked as if his apartment was frozen in time, like it had been in a time warp for the last decade. The exact same pictures were still hanging on the walls; the furniture hadn't moved an inch.

Grissom cleared his throat and gestured toward his stiff leather sofa. 'Sit down", he directed as he sat on the identical sofa across from mine. Once we were both seated, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked like he had just aged twenty years.

He sighed. "Greg, I just got off the phone with Brass. Tony Nash died today. We're not exactly sure how it happened, but Brass wants Sara and me to go to Harrisburg and find Lydia. He wants you to be our guide."

It just seemed so unreal, you know? I had just talked to him the day before and now all of a sudden he was dead. For awhile, I was too shocked to cry. And then, when the realization of the whole situation finally hit me, I had to hold myself together in front of Grissom. I tried to think of the fight that we just had, the lies he threw at me, but I couldn't. The only thoughts going through my mind right then were the memories. The way he used to threaten to kill me if I ever "dropped his fucking bass," the way he used to act out that God-awful eighties song "I Touch Myself" every time it came on the radio, his love for Lydia. The more I thought about it, the more I understood his anger at the hospital. Directly or not, I had taken her away from him, I had taken his life away from him. Here they all were, trying their hardest to hold themselves together in the midst of an unbelievable tragedy while I was out getting my degree- - making more than enough money while they were struggling just to get by. I was disgusted with myself, disgusted by how quickly I had forgotten about all of them, disgusted that I never got the chance to say goodbye.

I know my life was a bit more "tragic" than most people my age, but I had always tried to be optimistic in things to come, that God had a plan and the car crash, my sister's condition, and my father's "disease" were all a part of it. That some good had to come out of everything. After the news of Tony's death, I had no clue what the hell to believe.

Tony worked hard all of his life. He cared about everyone around him and he knew just how to make my bad days better, to make me feel like I belonged when I always knew I didn't. Sure, I didn't know anything about what happened in the final half of his life, but I knew it was tough. I knew they were almost back to normal again and then something like this had to happen.

We were such a small group- - Zack, Price, Tony, Kevin, Lydia, and I- - but we were always so close. After Kevin's death we became a group of five, and, after my desertion, a group of four. But that just wasn't small enough, was it? They were on their way to becoming one of the greatest rock bands of their time, but were cut short of their greatness by tragedy. Tony's death was a cruel joke that destroyed part of the legacy, that added salt to the almost healed wounds. It wasn't fucking fair.

"Greg?" Grissom's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah".

"Will you go to Harrisburg with us?" Initially I was going to say no, but the more I thought about it, this was my chance to make up for deserting them in the past. I needed to make it up to Tony.

"Yes".

"I've already spoken to Sara about it and she's waiting for us down at the crime lab. So go home and pack up your bags. Our plane leaves tonight."

**IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ**

**Every time you get into a car, please buckle up for Jaimé- a hilarious, sarcastic teenager with an obsession for old eighties music. Just a month before, she was so excited about FINALLY getting her liscense...and it ended like this. **

September 29, 1988 - October 9, 2004

The youngest in our class was the first to go. But, regardless of anything, there will always, ALWAYS be twelve of us.


End file.
